IRAN's story: The Girl Between the Two Seas
by Tessa Marlene
Summary: A retelling of Iran's history in Hetalia verse. From the ancient times with her grandfather, the Great Persian Empire, to today, when she's labeled as one of the Axis of Evil. Find out what trials she went through and who was at the heart of it all.
1. Part 1: The Great Persian Empire

I posted this on the Hetalia LJ first before I decided to also submit it to my account as well. Ever since I got into Hetalia and read a few stories with people creating their own nation-tans for countries not mentioned in hetalia I wanted to write an Iran story. I just felt there was too much good stuff about that amazing ancient country not to be told. And with the recent events happening there that attracted a lot of attention from the rest of the world the timing seemed just right. I gathered my courage and historical knowledge and began writing. I'm not sure how many chapters this will be or how long, I just keep writing and see where it goes.

Please note: Iran is an OC (surprise, surprise, she doesn't have a hetalia character.) I chose her to be a girl for two reasons: 1) Iran is a girl's name in Farsi (Persian) 2) I followed the trend set by Afghanis-tan that portrayed all Middle Eastern countries as females.

There will be a cast of some of the original hetalia characters in the later chapters primarily Arthur, Ivan and Alfred. Arthur in particular will play an important role in the story and his relationship with Iran will influence a lot of the events that make up the nation's recent history. Also Iran for now has no human name. Not specifically because Iran _is_ a Persian name but due to a reasons you will eventually come up in the story.

Hope you enjoy, and give me delicious feedback. Here it is, the story of my homeland Iran told in Hetalia verse.

...

**The Girl Between the Two Seas **

**Part 1: The Great Persian Empire**

The streets were burning. There was teargas and gunshots and garbage cans set on fire by people who wanted to dispel the harmful fumes hurting their eyes and throats. She was hiding behind one of those large, upturned containers, looking at all the rocks strewn across the street. She wasn't alone; four others, faces hidden behind masks and scarves, were crouching next to her. Children of the new revolution. Her eyes locked on the green wristband of the girl sitting next to her.

There was a parked car a few feet away. A teenage boy had taken refuge behind it and was observing the revolutionary guards' movement in the side mirror while giving them a minute by minute report.

"They're coming closer."

"They're getting ready to fire more teargas."

"They shot live ammo into the crowd."

"Someone collapsed."

It was a nightmare, watching her youngest children die and be injured at the hands of a menace she had created over 30 years ago. There wasn't a day in those three decades that she didn't regret the decisions she'd made in the past. How naïve she had been, how misguided. And every time, her people paid for her mistakes, like they were doing now. Generation after generation. Smart beautiful people, suffering because of her lack of judgment and her silly idealism that was a leftover from the days she was still with Persia.

Why would they still risk their lives for her?

"Coast is clear guys. Let's go and show those bastards what exactly we think of them."

The boy behind the car had joined their small group and he and his friends were passing around rocks they had collected off the street, getting ready to attack the men with guns one more time.

"No." She put her hand on the girl's wrist, over the green armband. "Don't go. It's dangerous out there. You will be shot."

The boy, no older than 18, smiled behind the green scarf tied over his mouth and said, "Don't worry, we'll be fine. It's no fun if we don't return fire. They might think we are scared."

"Aren't you?" she asked.

He stood up. So did the rest. His eyes trained on the smoke filled street in front of him, he said, "Not anymore. We lived all our lives being scared of these guys. This is the end, this time they can do their worst. We won't budge. We are the children of Persia. We are doing this for you Iran, so you could hold your head high again. Like the old times."

They dashed out onto the street. She didn't look where they went or what happened to them. As she hunched behind the smoldering container and listened to the sound of gunshots, her thought took her back to those old times, when Persia was still around and surely would have been proud of having such children in his land.

---

The land was ancient but she was young, with the appearance of a girl of barely 18. She lived between the two seas, the Caspian and the Persian Gulf, even though the kingdom was massive and reached the borders of India in the east and Europe and Africa in the west. That was Grandpa Persia's territory, the kingdom he constantly worked on expanding. For her what mattered was the heart of the land, the fields and deserts, mountains and forests that spread between the two shores on the north and south. She would take off her slippers and dip her toes into the water of the large sleeping lake or the angry frothing gulf, relishing in her freedom and independence.

Grandpa Persia was always away on wars. He wrestled with all the neighboring nations, brought most of them down and made them a part of the Great Persian Empire. The Lydian and Hittites fell easily, the Babylonians were much harder and doing that he also liberated the Jews, one of his proud achievements. Then there was 'that woman,' as he liked to call her: Greece. She didn't fall and didn't give up, always knew how to make grandpa sweat. He would come home cursing heaven and earth and everything in between before he'd go back and fight her some more. Grandpa Persia always looked so angry when he wrestled with her, but deep down his granddaughter knew he enjoyed those brawls. He was the strongest nation in the region and had conquered everything in sight. It would have been boring for him if Greece didn't put up a fight and traded punches with him. The girl suspected that they both felt that way and loved a strong rival with whom they could constantly wrestle and eat dirt when they got tired of winning.

Still all the wars were fought far far away, at the borders where she rarely went to. She liked her place near the sea, where she sat down and put flowers in her hair, made herself pretty for the coming of the spring. Grandpa Persia came back to their house around Nowrooz, the New Year, and he brought beautiful gifts from far away lands. She enjoyed all the activities they partook during the first 13 days of spring as they welcomed the new year, the arranging of the Haft-Seen spread, the baking of pastries and bread, growing wheat sprouts that they later threw away in the fields once the 13th day of the year arrived.

She sat in her grandfather's lap and watched the birds fly over the trees and listened to her grandfather's words spoken into her ear. "I am building the greatest empire in the world just for you. I am Persia, the conqueror and the mighty. I am there to expand and to defeat, to let the others hear about us, and see our wisdom, our courage, and our vast knowledge of many things.

You, my child, are Iran. You are the pure and untouched soul inside me who would one day inherit all of it. You will stay when I'm gone. Because I know, as any wise man does, that glorious days won't last forever. Empires rise and fall, warriors get pulled down to their knees, the world keeps changing like the tides of the Persian Gulf. But you, my dear, shall never die. You are the heart of our people, the spirit of this nation. When I am slain, remember this one thing, pull through and survive at all cost, and carry on the legacy of our ancient civilization and the pride and glory of the lion and the sun."

She remembered those words and repeated them every night as she went to sleep. "I am Iran. I am immortal. The tides will come and go and the world will change but I will remain the same, standing here between the two shores of Caspian and the Persian Gulf with the wind playing over the flowers in my hair."

---  
Some links:

h t t p : // en . wikipedia . org / wiki / Persian_Empire

Maps of the Persian Empire: h t t p : // karenswhimsy . com / map-of-persia . shtm


	2. Part 2: A Man Named Alexander

**The Girl Between the Two Seas  
**

**Part 2: A Man Named Alexander**

One day Grandpa Persia didn't come home. Iran had prepared a warm dinner and was brewing some tea when she heard banging on the door. Opening the door brought her face to face with a squadron of soldiers in the Greek army attire and the tip of a spear pointed at her throat. A young man on a white horse held the other end of the spear and was staring down at her, his body blocking the light of the late afternoon sun.

He said, "I have defeated your army and conquered your land. Surrender or be prepared to die."  
Iran looked up at him. "Where is my grandfather?" She asked. Yet she forgot her question as soon as she saw a group of soldiers carrying the unconscious body of Grandpa Persia toward her.

"Like I said, I defeated him. Your land is mine now. Surrender to me and I let you live."

Iran rushed to the side of her grandfather and helped them carry him inside. She tended to him as soldiers poured into the house and began turning things around and picking rooms. She splashed some water into Persia's face and saw his eyes quiver. It made her relax as she knew he was alive and safe. She looked at the commotion happening in her house and stood up and walked into the kitchen.

An hour later the man and his commanders where lounging on the chairs in the yard when she left the porch and walked toward them. She had a tray in her hands and walked slowly, careful to avoid the mess that was the result of their horses trotting through her garden. Once she was there she waited until the young man turned his eyes toward her. There was a moment when their eyes met and she felt a rush go through her looking at his eyes; they were the strangest she had seen to date. Not just the color – one blue and one brown – but the sharp way he looked at things as if seeing through them. She didn't say a word but knew that there was something about this man that would change things for her forever.

The man spoke then. "My name is Alexander. I am the king of Macedonia and Greece."

She nodded her head in respect. "I am Iran, granddaughter of Persia. Pleased to meet you."

Alexander scrutinized her with a haughty look. "I have heard about you, granddaughter of Persia. You should know I am your boss now, and you must do whatever I say. Go and serve food and drinks to my soldiers and make sure they are cared for."

"It's already done," she said and placed the tray on the table.

Alexander stared at it in surprise. "You mean you already gave food to my soldiers? Who told you to do that?"

"Nobody. They are guests in my house and it is Persian tradition to serve our guests and make sure they feel welcome. This is your food." She motioned toward the tray. "Please enjoy." And she left for the house.

Alexander watched her go with awe in his eyes.

Alexander had promised to move on after he had conquered Persia. His goal had been to conquer the empire and prove to himself and the rest of the world that – unlike popular belief - it was possible to do so. However he found himself staying in Persia's house, disinclined to leave. Iran wouldn't say anything; just kept serving and taking care of him and the soldiers like ordinary guests. She also nursed Grandpa Persia to good health and explained to him the situation. He hugged her close and thanked her for her patience, whispering to her that he would get rid of the intruders as soon as he felt better. Iran just nodded and didn't say anything.

Later on she took Alexander to the sea and showed him her favorite place where she got the flowers. Alexander was mesmerized by the beauty of it all. Together they looked for spring lilies and daisies and he made a special crown for her to place over her head.

Over the next weeks Alexander moved his soldiers out of Persia's house and to their own camp which they set up in a field, thus giving Iran and her grandfather their much needed desired privacy. Yet he kept coming back to the house and Iran would not object. She would cook him his favorite Persian dishes and bake cookies and treats as he stood and watched. Alexander no longer wore his military uniform in her presence; in fact he had stopped acting like a military man in front of her a long time ago. She too began to realize that she had fun having him around, his unique brand of humor, his ambitious personality, and the things he told her about his many adventures really amused her. Iran had never left her house and although she loved the land between the two seas she also enjoyed hearing about other places in the world.

"I think I'd like to wear some normal clothes now," Alexander said one day.

"I may have some for you, but they are the Persian style," Iran said.

"I don't mind."

Alexander stood still as Iran put the clothes on him. He looked relaxed and much more handsome without the rough and ragged shirts he had worn all through his campaign. One could say he looked domestic, at home.

"This looks good on you," Iran said as she finished folding the sleeves. Alexander's eyes were glued to his image in the mirror and it shocked her when his hand suddenly tightened on her wrist. He pulled her close and looked her deep in the eye. "Thank you," he said, his face too close to be comfortable.

Neither can remember if that was when their first kiss happened.

Months passed, years perhaps. They didn't know. Alexander lived at Iran's house. He wore Persian clothes, ate Persian food, listened and danced to the native music. Iran was in love. She sat with him as they both enjoyed the view of the sunset and talked about their dreams. Grandpa Persia had been angry at first; he wanted the Macedonian out of his house. But once he saw how he had changed – he now looked more Persian than anything else – and how much Iran loved him he relented. He moved out however and wouldn't come to the house that often.

The Greek soldiers were a different matter. Some of them had settled too and taken Persian wives. Others were becoming restless. They didn't like to see their king dressed in foreign garbs holding hands with the conquered nation. They raised objections, threw tantrums and started riots. Alexander lashed back and punished his men for their disobedience. Iran never liked those conflicts. It frightened her that the soldiers might hurt her people out of spite. Worse, she worried they might convince Alexander to leave.

One day at sunset they were sitting on the shore as usual and the birds were getting ready for their winter migration. Iran sat with her back against Alexander's chest feeling at peace. He had made her a new flower circlet for her hair, this time with lilacs and yarrows. He rested his chin on top of her head and was running his fingers through her hair when he suddenly asked, "Do you know India?"

Iran felt startled at the question but hid it carefully. "I've heard of her," she responded.

"What is she like? Do you know?"

"She is…wild, I guess. At least that's what the merchants say. Some say she is a goddess, with multiple arms. Some say she is a vixen. But I think she's just a woman, like me."

Alexander just nodded, but the way he breathed in told her something she didn't like. They'd been together long enough for her to sense his moods somewhat accurately.

She leaned forward and turned to face him. "You're not thinking of going to her, are you?" she asked.

He rubbed his face. "I don't know. That was the original plan you know, before I met you."

"But… I thought you said your plan was to conquer Persia."

"Asia," he corrected, "I wanted to go to the very end."

Something dropped in her stomach and sat heavy there. "But you're not going to do it now, are you? It's dangerous there. People tell crazy stories about that land."

"I know…I know. It was just a thought."

She nodded and turned to lean back against him again. Still the little voice in the back of her head kept murmuring that something important was about to change.

She pretended not to notice when his military uniform went missing. Later when she was in the yard tending to her herbs she pretended not to hear the hooves clopping behind her.

She couldn't ignore it however once he began speaking to her.

"I'm leaving for India," he said.

She looked up and saw him in his full military splendor against a backdrop of clear skies and army men. Her heart clenched, knowing nothing she would say would change his mind. So she simply asked, "Will you be back?"

"Of course," he shook his head, laughing, "what a silly question. I belong here. This is my home as much as Macedonia is. I'm only going on a quick excursion. I'll give your regards to India and bring you nice things. I promise."

He bent down and gave her a kiss on top of her head, stroking the flowers and locks with his hand. She could see in his eyes that he would miss her, but also that there was a fire that wouldn't be quenched unless he went. So she reached into her pocket and brought out a necklace that she placed around his neck. "To remember me by when you are away," she whispered and turned back to the sprouts that had just peaked through the wet soil.

Alexander left. Iran kept to her heart his promise of coming back soon and waited patiently.

After two years he did.

She heard the horses coming from the south long before they appeared. Rushing out of her house she stood on a hill and waited for the horses' heads to peak over the banks. She didn't notice she was holding her breath.

The anticipation ended once she saw him. It was him, of that she was sure, but he was different. He had changed so much, looking thin, beaten, his hunched over form on the horse more like an old man than a victorious commander.

He was wounded too. She noticed it as she helped him off the horse and saw him limping. She helped him to the house and lay him down on his bed, making sure he was comfortable and his wounded ankle was looked after. He wasn't looking at her. Instead he was staring off into space and that brave, daring look always lighting up his eyes was absent. She came back with a bowl of broth and tried to make him eat. She tried even harder not to show her sadness.

"They rode on giant beasts," he finally said.

She shook her head. She had hard about that. 'Elephants' was what they were called and India always liked to flaunt them.

"They trampled my men. We never had a chance. They had teeth as long as a man's arm and pierced my soldier's bodies with them. The men were so scared. It was so unfair. I simply wanted to talk to her, to see what she was like. But she stood back and just laughed as her men gutted and stomped over my soldiers."

He began to cough and she poured him a cup of water. He drank greedily and leaned back against the pillows, that faraway look coming back to his eyes.

"She was so cold, so heartless, even in all that heat. It was so hot out there. Not the good heat we have here in the south. It was a moist, slimy heat, the kind full of mud and sweat and mosquitoes. A lot of my men got sick and died. And we hadn't even reached our opponents yet."

Iran put a hand over his forehead and told him to rest. She was lost for words. What could she really say? I told you? But it was already too late. She could see the embers dying in his eyes. Alexander was the conqueror of the worlds. He didn't know defeat. She knew what was killing him was not the diseases or the wound in his leg. He was dying because he had finally lost.

She placed flowers on his grave after he died. She cried but her tears were mostly silent. She didn't want her people to see how much she cared for a man who had invaded their empire and made it part of his territory. There was another side to the story that no one would see. The tale of a conqueror who had enter a land bent on destroying it only to fall in love with it and make it his home. For that she wept for him and for that she considered him one of her own.

---

The story of Alexander the Great is an interesting one. He and his successors were invaders of Persia yet they were all deeply affected by the civilization and culture of the people they had conquered. Alexander in particular was completely enthralled. He took two Persian wives and changed a big part of his lifestyle to the Persian way, to the point that it began to irritate his soldiers. If it weren't for his ambitious nature, and the fact that he was always curious about what was next he might have led a happy life in Persia and returned much sooner to his homeland. Sadly it never happened.

One more part about the ancient days before the hetalia characters begin to show up.


	3. Part 3: The End of an Empire

**The Girl Between the Two Seas **

**Part 3: The End of an Empire**

The gardens in Persia's house had expanded under the care and attention of Iran. Many years had gone by and she was more content than ever in the house she shared with her grandfather. Some things had changed while others remained the same. Grandpa Persia still engaged in wars and brought home trophies and stories from new lands. He now had a new rival, an old warrior called Rome. Much like Greece, Persia enjoyed grappling with this new opponent to see who would come on top. It didn't hurt that this rival also had a nice house and a thriving culture and the two could trade ideas and customs as they wrestled and rolled.

Persia was strong, so Iran had no fear of the outside world. She had heard that Rome had a grandson who was the exact opposite of that and always feared what the other nations would do to him. She fancied meeting him one day and telling him there was nothing to worry about when their guardians were two of the strongest empires in the world.

The last thing she imagined was to be proven wrong.

It was a sunny day and she was in the kitchen preparing tea when she heard the sound of incoming horses. A group of riders was approaching. Her heart soared at the thought of it being her grandfather. Persia had been away for too long and she missed him. Wiping her hands on a cloth, she took the teapot from the stove and quickly poured several teacups full of hot, aromatic tea. Adding a plate of freshly baked cookies she picked up the tray and walked outside.

A dust cloud was visible beyond the treetops in the yard. She patiently waited to see who was coming. Even if it wasn't Grandpa Persia it could still be a guest. She loved guests of all kinds, the memory of Alexander and his company brought a smile to her lips.

The riders appeared and she saw them for the first time. A shiver went down her spine; she didn't recognize them. They weren't Roman or Greek. In fact their uniforms – if you could call it that – looked a bit strange for an army. Course wool tunics over loose pants, heads wrapped in scarves that came down to cover half their faces so that the only part you could see were their piercing dark eyes.

These men looked wild, nothing like the structured marching armies that had visited her land before. Gravel sprang underneath the horses' hooves as they spurred them forward; one hand holding the reins while the other was fisted around the handle of a brandished curved blade.

She couldn't explain why but the feeling of security and welcome was immediately gone from her stance, replaced with a wave of unease and fear. Instinct told her these weren't friends or curious visitors; that the intention in their hearts, whatever it was, was in no means in her favor.

The riders reached the front porch where she stood with the tray in her hands. They slowed but had a hard time coercing their horses to remain calm. The dust in the air made her cough and she was still confused about what these men wanted when she saw one of them trample her fresh grown basils with his horse's hooves.

"Sir, would to please…," she said.

The noise suddenly stopped. All eyes heads turned to her and she felt shivers crawl up her body at so many faceless eyes resting on her. Timidly she pointed at the basil patch and said: "Th-they've just poked out of the soil. Would you please walk your horse out of there and be mindful of my basils?"

Silence followed and the men continued looking at her like they hadn't understood. Then suddenly a roar went up and the flurry of motion was back. The horses began stomping the ground and she cringed against the chaos in front of her. She was wondering what had caused such turmoil when she suddenly saw Grandpa Persia, right there in the middle of the foray, fighting like a lion surrounded by a pack of wolves.

Noticing her eyes on him, he looked toward her and yelled, "Iran, get inside the house."

"But-but, grandpa…"

"Don't say anything, just get inside. NOW."

Yet 'now' was already too late. Somebody whacked Iran in the back of the head and she went down, tray falling out of her hands and teacups crashing against the ground. She used her hands to break her fall, confused at what had happened when she saw several horse hooves around her. Distantly she heard Grandpa Persia's roar and the sound of clashes nearby. A hand locked onto her upper arm and pulled her up, lifting her from the ground like a child would a lifeless doll.

"Lizard eating sand dweller, don't touch her," came the voice of her grandpa.

She could see him despite the odd angle and the vertigo in her head. He was in a standoff with four or five men, holding his straight sword against their curved blades and watching each of his opponents carefully. She closed her eyes to avoid seeing the hopeless situation, the fact that her grandfather was severely outnumbered.

The intruders spoke in a strange tongue but she got a distinct feeling they were talking about her. Then suddenly more hands were on her, trying to pull her onto one of the horses. She screamed and Grandpa Persia charged toward them, throwing caution to the wind in favor of reaching her faster.

It was a fatal mistake. He never got to her. They cut him down as soon as he broke out of the standoff and his body fell to the ground. Iran screamed so loud her ears lost their hearing ability so she watched in muted horror as the swords came down again and again and pierced her grandpa's body. It was only minutes – although it felt like a century to her – before his lifeless form went still on the pavement.

She stared stunned. Her brain refused to believe it had happened even though she could see the blood leaving his body. Her beloved grandfather, the great empire of Persia, was dead. Killed right before her eyes. A hand came down and swept her up onto the horse and she offered no resistance. Her eyes stayed on her grandfather's body even as they began to ride away, watching him lie in a pool of his own blood next to her basil patch.

They took her to their encampment. Along the way she saw the carnage and destruction that was the result of their invasion: houses on fire, dead bodies on the ground, blood everywhere. She closed her eyes and prayed to the good God that her people would survive. Still, everything she saw proved to her that this raid was something different from all the others that had happened before, that something was undeniably and irreversibly lost to them.

At the camp they dragged her in front of their commander, the only man whose face was not covered by a cloth. He had dark piercing eyes and a beard that resembled a beehive. He looked her up and down and made a motion with his hand to tell his men to let her go. As soon as they did her knees gave way and she almost collapsed. But then her ancient pride came back and she pulled herself together. She wouldn't show any weakness in front of these cruel men.

"So you are Iran," the commander said.

She raised her chin to look the man in the eye. The question was obviously rhetorical so she didn't give a reply, instead she said, "Don't hurt my people. They've done nothing to you."

The commander looked past her, at the bloodshed that had already happened. He said, "The people won't be harmed as long as they accept the true religion and become believers of the single god."

"But… we already are believers of the single god," she said.

"You're infidels," the man said sharply, and his intense glare snapped back to her.

"We're Zoroastrians, not infidels. We believe in the good god Ahura Mazda," she insisted.

"There is no such god as Ahura Mazda, only Allah. You must turn to the right path and believe in the real god or we will end your lives and rid the world of your blasphemy."

She wanted to tell him more about Zoroastrianism and it being a good religion that taught people to be tolerant and decent. She wanted to say that they could all believe in one true god, regardless of what he was called. But she was cut off by a scream, a woman crying beyond the camp. She panicked at the thought of her people suffering.

This was absolutely terrible. All the other nations that had invaded her home had come for treasures, land and food. Some just took what they wanted and leave; some stayed and slowly learned about the culture and traditions of the land. None had ever wanted to change those traditions or asked them to abandon their faith. None had attacked the very culture she had used for centuries like a secret soft weapon to defend and convert her original offenders. Now, for the first time, she felt helpless, as if the ground underneath her feet was slipping away and she was falling into a great dark abyss.

Another scream rang through the air and she dropped her head. The man who was watching her closely said, "You can end their suffering and save their souls by telling them to convert to Islam. If they do that you would become part of our great nation and they would be considered our brothers and sisters and safe from any harm."

She thought about it and realized there was no way she could ever do it. The truth was these men weren't just trying to change their beliefs; they were transforming their whole culture, replacing their identity with something else. Without those, Persia would cease to exist. It would become a different country, one that belonged to that other 'nation.' She just couldn't do it.

"Would you rather die?" The swords came out and she looked around in despair. It was plain as the sun in a cloudless sky. These warriors were ready to kill anyone who wasn't willing to serve their god.

"Will you spare my people if I told them to convert?" she asked quietly.

"Of course. I already told you they'd become like family."

"I will do it then."

"You must become Muslim yourself."

She closed her eyes. "I will, just don't kill anymore of my people."

"Marhaba. Then repeat the divine words after me…"

The people of Persia converted to the new religion, some out of fear, some because Iran begged them to. A few ran away to secluded places where they were safe from the invaders and could keep their ancient beliefs. Still, the nation as a whole changed, and the days of the Great Persian Empire were over.

Iran hated what she had done, what she had asked her people to do, but it was for their own survival. No nation could stay alive if its people were wiped out in a massacre. Still the Persians didn't become followers of the man that had invaded their country; the bearded commander called 'the Kalif.' Instead they began a new faction, one that supported the son in law of the prophet and Kalif's main rival. They called themselves 'the Shiites' and became the cause of the most critical and destructive rift in the history of the religion.

Grandpa Persia was buried in the ruins of Persepolis, were there once stood their house. Iran cried at his gravesite. She looked different now. She still had the flowers in her hair but they were now covered by a veil. She was told, since she was a Muslim woman, she had to cover her hair from the eyes of unrelated men. She was also no longer allowed to dance to her traditional music or sing in public. The Kalif had fancied taking her to his harem and making her one of his several wives, but something in the look she had given him had caused him to back down and abandon the idea. They were gone now, leaving a landscape full of death and sadness, burned libraries and abolished effigies behind.

A regent was to be sent soon to the area between the two seas, so the Kalif had promised. He would rule the land as part of the great Muslim kingdom. Iran didn't care much about it, nor did she care about changing the ways of the invaders and opening their eyes to the treasures of her culture like she'd done with Alexander. The fire had died inside her and no matter how much she wanted to no spark was happening.

A breeze came and moved the veil away from her face. There was a whisper in the wind and she turned to see who was standing behind her. That was when she heard the words: "Do not despair, child. Remember you're Iran, so be immortal and live through the hard days. I may be gone but my spirit will always be with you. Millennia from now people will still speak my name with pride and look at you with love and deep loyalty. You haven't lost anything because you still have your people and the people are a nation's greatest treasure."

Iran stood up and smiled, sending a silent thanks to her grandfather. It was all up to her and she knew she could get through this with his memory in mind. The Great Persian Empire might have ended but Iran still had many centuries ahead of her

---

This part might be considered a little controversial (not to mention tragic, poor Grandpa Persia, poor Iran ;_;) but before you yell at me and accuse me of demonizing another nation I must tell you that the Arab invasion that happened a thousand years ago is seen as one of the most tragic events in the history of Iran by many of its people. It's true that the people eventually came to terms with being Muslim and even in some cases fully embraced the religion and became some of its most devoted followers. But the truth remains that Persians were forced to accept Islam under very harsh conditions and lost a lot of their culture, myths and traditions in the process. Persia never gained back its previous glory after the invasion and even the fact that it had not originally been part of the Islamic word (and its people not part of the same race as the Arabs) became the cause of much turmoil and discrimination in later years.

It's also important to mention that the Zoroastrian religion didn't entirely disappear. In fact there are still large communities in Iran that practice that religion to this day. The rituals of Nowrooz, Haft-seen and Yalda (longest night of the year) which are quite popular in Iran even now are remnants of that old faith. The Iranian calendar and language also wasn't changed, although the calligraphy did. In short the nation became a hybrid of its ancient roots and what was brought to it from the religion it adopted.

Some links:

h t t p : // en . wikipedia . org / wiki / Muslim _ conquest _ of _ Persia Persia

h t t p : // en . wikipedia . org / wiki / Zoroastrianism

h t t p : // en . wikipedia . org / wiki / Shiite


	4. Part 4: Blond Man and a Tall Ship

**The Girl Between the Two Seas **

**Part 4: Blond Man and a Tall Ship **

When the 16th century rolled around Iran was finally able to look back at the invasion without feeling pain. It was now part of her history and a lesson learned. She had thought her culture wouldn't survive the trauma. She was glad she had been wrong.

Looking at the indigo blue of the Caspian Sea she smiled at the recollection. Not only had she been able to keep her culture alive and nurture it back to exuberance, she had managed to affect those who had captured her land as well, using that very same culture. The new religion had changed her, that much was true, but she too had changed the religion. From the raw, nomadic and partly barbaric Islam that had come from the planes of Arabia a new faith was born, full of beauty, architecture, scripture and poetry. Instead of letting Islam take over her and turn her into a helpless puppet, she and her people had taken Islam in their hands and polished it into a jewel. In the end, both the religion and the nation had become stronger for it.

_I am Iran. I am immortal. _

She picked a tuberose from a cluster and smelled it. Its scent cloaked her like an aura, making her close her eyes. _Perfect_, she thought, and tucked the flower in her hair near the edge of the sheer veil that hung like an accessory on the back of her head.

Things had become so much better. Even the dress code no longer counted as one. She had her own fashion now, and different traditional outfits incorporating the veil had sprung up from every corner of the country.

It hadn't meant the end of her troubles though and least of all the last invasion into her lands. Her body still bore the scars of the Mongols, who crossed the Alborz mountains and conquered her so swiftly she was stunned for many days, waking up to cities full of corpses and rivers full of blood. The Tatars weren't any better as Timur the Cripple had promised to follow the example of his idol Genghis Khan to the last detail, invading Iran, killing masses and setting towns and villages on fire. She had been petrified on both occasions. But there was a difference between how she handled those as opposed to when the Arabs had attacked. She no longer felt hopeless.

She knew that no matter how much they killed, plundered and destroyed, no matter how much they tried to change things and turn them their own way, in the end they would all go down the path Alexander had gone. They would fall for her millennia old, captivating culture and get so caught up in it that in the end you wouldn't be able to tell them from her people. And exactly as she had predicted, it had happened to both the Mongol and Tatar rulers that succeeded the invaders. They were assimilated into the nation's population and become some of the biggest supporters of the Persian heritage. It was a heartwarming reality that always reminded her of the first time Alexander had worn a Persian garb.

Now, in the midpoint of the 16th century, she was facing a new challenger. His name was Sadiq and he was an Ottoman Turk from north east. They had wrestled with each other much like Grandpa Persia and Momma Greece. The man was a fierce and crafty warrior. His troops alone had caused the defeat of one of her greatest kings, Shah Ismail, and had captured her capital. And even though in the end they had to leave and weren't able to conquer the nation due to the bravery and endurance of the Persians, they still posed a major threat.

Iran remembered the first time she had seen the masked man on the battlefield. He had looked at her with a smirk, confident that this would be an easy conquest. She knew better. She had seen the bottom of absolute fear and lived to talk about it. This man was not half as intimidating as Genghis Khan or Timur. Her soldiers were willing to die for their country and nearly all were either seasoned warriors or energetic young men. She knew she had a good chance against him.

Sadly the disadvantage came when instead of swords and arrows, Sadiq's soldiers attacked with dangerous weapons that could shoot fiery balls from a distance. Against this new and frightening advancement none of the Persians' armaments or strategies had any effect.

Iran bit her lip and threw the pebble she was holding into the water. She knew if she wanted to continue to stand against Sadiq she needed firearms. She just didn't know where to get it. She was told there were countries beyond the seas that produced those weapons. But she had neither seen nor communicated with any of them. They had seemed so far away and so foreign that her thoughts never reached their shores. Now, sitting on the familiar beach near the water, she wondered whether she should build a boat, fill it with engineers and wise men and set sail to find the places that made guns and cannons.

As if conjured by her thoughts, a tall ship with massive white sails appeared on the calm surface of the big lake and slowly glided toward her.

On the helm of the ship stood a man with the most ridiculous triangular hat she had ever seen. He had one foot placed on the railing of the ship, above the extravagant statue of a mermaid, and was holding one of the sail ropes in his hand. Aside from his funny hat and outfit, the only other things about him that caught the Eastern nation's attention were his thick eyebrows and straw blond hair.

The ship finally reached shore and the man left the deck in one wide swoop, jumping onto the sand. Another man, older and less excited, with strawberry colored hair and a thick beard, came down next to him and stood near the ship as the blonde made his way around the beach.

"Look at this, Jenkinson," the first man said, "Can you believe it? Who would have thought that Russian bastard had such a beautiful beach south of his lands."

The man named Jenkinson cleared his throat and said, "Captain Kirkland Sir, I don't believe this land belongs to Mr. Braginsky."

The captain stopped his happy trot and turned to look at the other man. "You know what? I think you're right. Otherwise he would have bragged about it a long time ago like he does with those poor Baltics all the time."

He shaded his eyes with his hand and scanned the area. "But it won't be long, I tell you. A place like this at his doorsteps…sooner or later he'd come to claim it. And then…oh wait, what's that?"

Iran had been hiding behind a cherry tree and was looking at the scene while in cover. When the emerald gaze landed on her she quickly slipped back behind the tree. She didn't know who these people were and their strange outfits didn't sit right with her. Experience had shown her that strange things always meant trouble and she didn't want to deal with any trouble before she had spent enough time investigating it.

"What is it, Captain?" asked Jenkinson.

"A girl. She's standing behind that tree. Look. And she's giving this vibe. I believe she's like me."

_Like him_, Iran wondered. This man was one of them, a nation like her and Sadiq. And he had come from the North; a place that to date was still a big mystery to her.

She stepped out from her hiding place and stood in front of the man. He stared at her for a while, mouth open, before he collected himself and said, "Hi there. I'm Arthur Kirkland, England. What's your name?"

She tilted her head to one side and said, "Nice to meet you England. I'm Iran."

He waited and when no other introduction came leaned a bit forward and asked, "Just Iran? You have no other name?"

"Other name? What do you mean?"

"Like my name, Arthur Kirkland. You may call it a human name. You don't have any of those?"

The question somehow bothered her and she looked away at the ground. "No, I'm just Iran," she answered.

Arthur smiled. He reached forward and touched her arm, drawing her attention to him. "Hey, don't worry about it. Iran is a beautiful name. I'm going to call you that from now on."

She looked up and smiled as well. Something in the man's countenance reminded her of Alexander and she felt an immediate natural affection towards him.

"Would you like to come to my house for some tea?" she said.

Arthur stuttered, surprised at the invitation. "I'm not sure. I have a lot of business to attend. I wasn't planning to stay here too long. And my men…"

"Your men are invited too."

"Really?" he perked up.

She nodded her head.

"Well, not all of them can come. Someone needs to watch over the ship. But I wouldn't mind giving my officers and first mate here some relaxation time."

A few hours later they were sitting in Iran's new house in Isfahan sipping on aromatic tea and sampling delicious sweets. Iran served them herself, the feeling of nostalgia and the memory of her Macedonian lover returning to her like a tidal wave. This Arthur was handsome. True he was occasionally bitter and tended to get prissy with his men but none of that showed in his face when he gazed at her or her land. She suspected he liked her home and was feeling comfortable in it. That feeling satisfied the intrinsic hostess in her and made the process of serving him and his men fun.

Arthur for his part was fascinated. He wasn't a stranger to the East. India was one of his colonies and he had been to that land many times. But India was wild, hot and unpredictable. You always had to be on your toes with her and owning her as a colony sometimes caused more headache than it was worth. This land was different. It looked almost as rich as India yet instead of spice and heat it was full of tranquility and varied nature. From moist forests to tall mountains to the sleeping deserts and the two seas, everything spoke of a quiet history. And more importantly, everything seemed raw and untapped. It was obvious that none of the other nations had set foot here. Not even Russia who had a penchant to "check out" his neighbors. The Brit thought to himself - as he leaned back and put another baklava in his mouth – that he might have struck gold in this unknown, untouched territory.

His eyes fell on the gentle face of Iran. She was beautiful, very much so despite her demure behavior – or perhaps because of it – and the strange conservative yet colorful dress she wore. This was a nation born from an ancient heritage yet everything about her seemed fresh and young. It would be as fun to explore the nation as it was to discover the land.

There was also the problem of Sadiq. He was getting too powerful and England felt he needed to learn everything about his neighbors, enemies and allies in order to have an upper hand with the rapidly expanding Turkish Empire.

"You've done so much for us, dear lovely Iran. You really took the travel fatigue out of my men. Is there anything I can do for you?" Arthur said.

Iran asked shyly, "Could you please tell me first where you've come from?"

"But I already told you. I'm England. You know, UK, Great Britain?"

"I know, but…where is England exactly?"

"Where?" England scratched his head. He was so used to being a sea captain and bending over maps all day that he had forgotten there were nations out there that didn't know as much as him about the rest of the world.

"Well, England is part of Europe. The continent on the other side of Turkey. England is this big island on the very end of that continent."

"Europe," she whispered, and her countenance suddenly brightened up for a reason Arthur didn't know.

He could sense she was struggling with some thought. Or wanted to say something and wasn't quite sure if she should. He was familiar with the timidity and pride that ran within all these Eastern nations so he leaned forward and repeated in a warmer, friendlier tone, "Is there anything I could do to repay you for your kindness?"

She looked down and said, "I was wondering if you would visit me more often."

The Brit raised an eyebrow. _What?_ "Of course. But only if you would allow me access to all parts of your beautiful land and its gorgeous nature… I want to see and feel everything." His eyes roamed over the trees and flowers nearby and suddenly the spirit of the opportunist in him reared its head. "But you have to ask me something in return," he added.

Iran looked up, her cheeks flushed and her eyes full of hope. She said, "Would you mind helping me against Turkey so I could hold him back?"

_Perfect!_ Arthur thought. It couldn't have been better. She was asking for the same thing that had been on his mind since he had come here. Now here was the solution, practically thrown at him.

"Of course," he said, "what do you want me to do?"

"I've heard Europeans have cannons and guns. Sadiq has them too and that's how he beat me last time. Could you give my men some guns and teach them how to use them? If you did that I would be forever thankful and give you anything you want."

_Anything I want_.

Arthur looked at the rosy lips and supple body, wondering what this nation, in her desperate need for protection, was offering. One thing was plane as daylight to him: Iran, despite having been around for over a millennium, seemed as naïve and trusting as a child. She had a tenderness and innocence about her that was simply begging to be exploited.

_I'm not going to be the one to do that,_ he told himself, _besides what she's asking me is completely in line with what I want so why shouldn't I accept?_

Turning up his smile a few degrees England said, "Not only will I give you firearms and teach your men how to use them, I'll personally help you defeat Sadiq."

He truly enjoyed the look of surprise and happiness that appeared in her eyes as he put his hand in hers. A new alliance was born and the voices of his magical friends were telling him it was going to be a good one.

---

In the 16th century with the take over of the Safavid Dynasty Iran finally managed to get back some of its previous glory and once again be called an empire. Shah Ismail was the first Savafid king that united the country as a whole and established a solid Shiite central government. His later successor Shah Abbas expanded this prominence and set out to make Iran one of the most powerful nations in the region by making strong alliances with the then influential European countries.

The British first came to Iran in late 16th century from north (although later most their ships chose the gulf in the south as their entry point.) Before you ask how they got their ships into the Caspian Sea, which is a lake, I need to remind you this is Arthur we are talking about and he is capable of magic. (But really I think they sailed through a lot of rivers.)

This is a part of Iran's history that is a bit brighter. Iran is happy here because she likes England and he wants to protect her against Sadiq (which is historically true as the British, like the Iranians, were worried about the Ottomans getting too strong.) I will try to keep the relationship between Arthur and Iran as close to history as possible.

Sorry if England seems a bit OC. I'll try to balance his Hetalia character with the smooth and crafty people the British who visited Iran really were. Also sorry I glossed over so much of Iran's history. The Mongol and Tatar conquests were truly important events, as were many other wars. But this is a Hetalia fic and I figured I'd better get to the parts where Hetalis characters would come into picture.

Reviews make me happy.


	5. Part 5: The Lion, The Cat and The Bear

**The Girl Between the Two Seas **

**Part 5: The Lion, The Cat and The Bear **

The ships always came from the south now. That was where she waited for him. After that first, unexpected meeting it felt as if Arthur had found a second home in her land (a third, or forth perhaps? She suspected him to travel a lot.) He now came from the Persian Gulf, sly smile on his lips as he rode the waves on the bow of his ship, like a naughty pirate.

When the ship hit land and he jumped on the shore she was there to greet him. He ran to her, grabbed her in his arms, and they spun and laughed like two lovesick teenagers on a secluded beach.

"You seem extra happy today. Good news?" she asked as she linked arms with him.

"You bet. Wait until I tell you about America. He's getting cuter by the day. I'm so happy I have him as my colony. Just the other day…."

She tuned him out. The talk of his colonies was her least favorite of all, as much as it was _his_ most beloved topic. She didn't see the appeal. Why would those nations want to belong to him, and why would he like to boast about it? It was bad enough that India was one of them, the nation that once took a man from her. It pained her to speculate his visits were mostly midway stops on his way to India.

"Hey Iran, you listening?"

She forced a polite smile. "Sorry, too much on my mind."

"I said how would you like to be included in the East India Company?"

She didn't know what the East India Company was but she loved the idea of being included in something he did so she shook her head in agreement.

"Ahh great," he said, "that means I get exclusive rights for trade routs and import/exports. Excellent." He wasn't looking at her, more likely thinking out loud. She didn't mind because he seemed happy.

"Let's not talk about trades and businesses any more and let me show you my new capital. You will love it."

He looked at her in surprise. "Your _new_ capital. What happened to Isfahan? Did one of those Safavid kings change the capital in honor of their fifth wife, or something?"

She stared at him, a heavy pause weighing on her expression. "The Safavids are no longer my kings."

"Oh, that's right. How silly of me. Your king is, let me guess… one of the successors of that Nader guy, right? I heard about him while I was in India. He got to India's house and stole a whole bunch of her jewelry. She was very mad."

Iran laughed. She hadn't told anyone that she had secretly goaded King Nader to conquer India and take her treasures.

"That is true, and a very good story. But my king no longer belongs to that dynasty either. I have a new boss now. His name is Karim khan and he is the best man you want for a king. He's the one who chose this new capital. If you liked Isfahan, you will love Shiraz."

Arthur shook his head and sighed. "You know, I don't like to argue with you on your internal politics. But do you think this constant changing of bosses is really a good idea? It must mess up your household pretty bad."

Her smile disappeared and she looked away. "It's ok," she said, "It hurts a little, having to answer to a different person every time. Especially when they come and go in very bad ways. Did I tell you how one of the last ones beheaded all of his brothers, then hunted down his cousin and poked his eyes out so he wouldn't think about taking over?"

It was Arthur's turn to tune out the conversation. Iran was a very delicate and gentle creature. But sometimes the stories that came out of her house frightened him. God knew he had seen his share of brutalities in Europe and was no stranger to violence, but the aloof, almost flippant way the girl talked about heads being cut off, eyes being poked out and guts that were laid bare gave him the shivers. His guess was she had seen so much of it - being invaded by Arabs, Mongols, Tatars, Turks and Afghans – that her senses had become dull to those horrors.

They arrived in Shiraz and were soon having tea and enjoying the view at her new home.

"Hey, I like this new city."

"It's actually quite old. The ancient kings used to rule here, just a few miles away. Back when it was still Persia."

Arthur leaned forward and snuggled her hair. "Enough about your kings and rulers. What do you say we drink some wine and enjoy ourselves."

She gave a nervous laughter and eyed the wine jug she had specifically brought for him. Technically her religion forbade her to drink alcohol, but sitting so close to the handsome, green eyed man and feeling the seductive air she thought she could forgive one sin for the sake of another she was about to commit.

"I guess we could have _some…_,"she poured a small cup for him and a smaller one for herself and they both drank. Passion bloomed under the slightly leaning cypress trees and the constant song of the nightingales.

He was a gentle lover. In that he almost reminded her of Alexander. He moved slowly and smoothly against her, giving her unparalleled pleasure. She gasped as he cradled her head and placed butterfly kisses on her cheeks and neck. As he moved down her body toward her supple breasts he breathed, "Tell me you're only mine. Tell me you will only give in to me and no one else. Tell me."

She panted. "Yesss, Just you. Take what you want. It's all yours."

He rose back up to her face, his own face flushed and his thick eyebrows knotted. "If France comes to you kick him out. If Spain, if Russia…, kick them all out. Be with me. Only me."

"I promise. It will be only you. Always."

His next visit came sooner than he expected. He needed something and was already formulating a request in his head. He had seen the Portuguese lurking around and wanted unrivalled access to all the Southern ports, immediately.

She wasn't in Shiraz however. The capital looked deserted and gloomy, like a town after carnage. The places where they had made love were filled with dust and showed neglect, and the people's eyes had no light in them. He asked around about her and everyone pointed north. Apparently she no longer lived in beautiful Shiraz but in this tiny town called Tehran.

He rode all day until he got there.

The town was slightly bigger than a village. Nestled in a valley inside the Alborz mountains, it looked lonely and insignificant. Why had she moved here?

He found her sitting on her new house's front porch looking at an orchard in front of her. For a moment he dreaded going to her. Did he really have the nerve for this? He had enough on his mind with a newly independent America and a troublesome India. Did he care to add her to the list of his concerns?

_I need to know what is going on. It may be important to the region._

He approached her cautiously. She didn't raise her head.

"Hi."

"Hi," she responded, not looking at him.

He walked closer and sat on the railing of the porch, a little to the side as to not block her view.

"What happened?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean why you are here? In this small, backwater town?"

"This is my capital."

"What? You must be kidding."

She looked at him then. "No, this _is _my capital."

"But… what happened to Shiraz?"

She looked away. "Shiraz is no more. My king changed."

Arthur felt a headache coming. "_Again?_ But didn't you say just a while ago…?"

She cut him off, put her face in her hands and began crying. "I know, I know. But Karim khan died, and his great great nephew was blinded, raped and strangled (Arthur's face went pale,) by this eunuch who is now king, and he chose this city as the capital."

Arthur spoke in a choked voice. "Your new king is a eunuch?"

"That's not important," she snapped, "I had so much hope in Karim khan's dynasty. He was so peaceful and he united the whole nation. Now there's chaos again. This eunuch, Agha Mohammad khan, he's a warmongering tyrant. He's waging war everywhere. Did I tell you after he won the siege of Kerman he destroyed the city, blinded 10000 of its residents and made a pile of eyeballs in front of him?"

Arthur gave a nervous laughter. _Enough of this already._ He took Iran's hand and pulled her from the chair. "I think it's best we both go for a ride. A little fresh air should do us good. Shall we?"

She resisted at first, but with his insistent she got on the back of the horse and soon they were riding in the foothills of the mountains amidst fresh streams and green groves. Arthur was right and Iran's mood lifted at their first midday stop near a bubbling spring, where he kissed her and shared a piece of Persian shortcake with her. After that it was just a fun day in the sun.

They reached a small village in the afternoon and racing through its alleys laughing and flirting. Once they stopped near a wheat field and sat under a weeping willow Arthur whispered in Iran's ear, "Are you feeling better?"

She touched his face, "Of course. Much better. Looking at your bushy eyebrows always puts me in a good mood."

Arthur pouted and touched his brow. "That's how all gentlemen look in my neck of the woods."

"Sure dear, if you say so," she giggled.

Noticing her ease he decided to test the waters. "I wanted to ask you for something. The ports in the South…"

He searched for words that wouldn't sound inconsiderate, but she threw her arms around his neck and said, "Stop asking me for things. If you want something, just take it. It's all yours anyways. So just take it and let's not talk about it."

Arthur smiled and kissed her. He was infatuated with her but more so, with the power he held over her.

A few hours later, when she was left sitting under the tree and he had gone to gather firewood to cook dinner, she discovered they hadn't been alone. A woman knelt at a nearby stream, washing clothes and getting water. She must have felt Iran's eyes on her because she looked straight at her. Iran didn't expect the woman to say anything and her words surprised her more than her speaking.

"He's using you, you know."

The nation looked at her, stunned. For a moment she didn't comprehend what was said and the woman noticed it.

"That man, the Westerner, he doesn't have your best interest in mind. He is only using you to get what he wants. You are too blind with love to see it."

Her jug was full. She tied it to her back, gathered her stuff and started leaving. Iran snapped out of her stupor and yelled after her.

"Wait, what do you mean?"

"You should be smart when dealing with foreigners," the woman said, "This land is left to you by your grandfather. You should not throw its riches around like a bagful of sequin."

"But he is my lover. He helped me against Sadiq. He loves me. How can you say…hey, wait."

But the woman was leaving, her thin form sauntering along the dusty road that led to the village. Iran's good mood sank at her departure, the bitter words ringing in her ear.

Arthur was mad. He paced the floor and cursed himself for accepting his host's invitation when it was so clearly a summoning rather than an invite. He should have known the bastard would make him wait; make him look like a peasant client. The more he waited the more agitated he got so when the doors of the enormous office opened and he was led in his head looked like a giant tomato with two knotted brows.

Ivan was behind his ornate desk, looking over papers with the usual tranquil smile on his face. It always amazed the Brit how this man could remain calm and smile while dispensing the most horrifying fates onto other nations. It seemed the child-like man had no understanding of what expression went with what situation. He really should take some pointers from England whose current expression completely matched how angry he was.

"Ah! My dear England. Please take a seat. I'll tell dear Liet to bring us some tea."

"I don't want your tea. I want to know why you summoned me like a page boy and made me wait three hours outside your office."

Russia closed his eyes and grinned like a puppy. "Please, please sit down. We can't talk like that. There are many things to discuss but it's hard if you keep yelling and walking."

England decided to take the offer and sit down, if only to make Russia get to the point. He put his elbows on the armrests of the high backed chair and leaned back, throwing one leg over the other and staring at the Russian smugly.

"Fine, I'm sitting. Now tell me your urgent business."

Russia looked at him with a sinister glint in his eyes. His smile never wavered.

"I've heard you've achieved some conquests with my fellow neighbor in the south, haven't you?"

"If you ask have I invaded any of her vital regions I must sorely disappoint you, that's your forte."

"But you have become close with her. My sources tell me you're controlling most of the Southern ports, yes?"

England raised an eyebrow. "Your point?"

Russia's smile turned feral. "Nothing. I just wanted to inform you I'll be soon sending troops to claim the north."

England jumped out of his chair. "The north? You mean north of Iran, near Caspian Sea? That's _her_ territory. You can't just march in there and take it."

"I think I can. Nobody is stopping me, are they?"

"What do you mean? What is your intention? Do you want to invade Iran? Is that your plan? If you think you can make her one with you you're delusional."

England's temper rose again as he stared at the Russian like a fuming bull.

Russia didn't lose an inch of his composure, simply looking up at the standing man on the other side of the desk.

"I don't want to make her one with me, no. She's too stubborn and I don't like her warm climate. That's more your thing. I'm a creature of the cold."

England eyed him suspiciously, knowing that wasn't all.

"But I want _something._ A piece of her, some part of her beauty and grace. I ignored her for too long and now I'm realizing my mistake. You must have made her really blossom because not a day passes that I don't smell her perfume or hear her laughter from here. You must admit, my friend, I deserve a part of that."

England slammed his hand on the table.

"No, you don't. I worked hard for it. I got her first. Do you know how many days, months, years I spent courting her? You think you can just waltz in there with your big armies and your crude ways and steal what's mine? If that's what you think you're a fool."

"Ahhhhh! So you are the knight in shining armor now. You've served at her temple and you want all the benefits for yourself, yes? Don't give yourself too much credit. After all, we all know why you are in the region and where your loyalties really lie."

England froze. He couldn't believe Russia had thrown that in his face. He had been internally fighting with himself over the issue of his feelings for Iran and his assets in the region. It angered him that Ivan had managed to read him so easily.

Turning on his heels, he began walking out of the room. Just before reaching the door he looked over his shoulder and said, "I dare you to attack Iran. I know her better than any of you. She is a fierce fighter and she'll slap you like the bitch you are, just like she did Sadiq. It would amount to nothing and will be a big waste of your armies and your guns. It will also make you the laughing stock of all the other nations."

Russia's only answer was a knowing smirk. Arthur walked out of the room and slammed the door behind him before he ran the risk of snapping and physically attacking the other man.

---

First off let me say I know this chapter sucks. There was a lot of history I had to explain to get the story from the last chapter to where it got right now and I couldn't find any other way to narrate it. I hate exposition, believe me I do, but explaining all the events like they happened would have been exhausting and possibly boring. Now the story is at a point that it really gets interesting because I believe I have laid out the essence of Iran and England's relationship which the rest of the story will strongly revolve around.

Instead of giving you boring wikipedia links I'll try to give a short explanation on each of the historical points mentioned in this chapter:

- Nader Shah Afshar was a Persian king who did invade India. He took the infamous Koh-i-Noor "Mountain of Light", and Darya-ye Noor "Sea of Light" diamonds (two of the largest diamonds in the world,) from India, among lots of other treasures. Later the British seized Koh-i-Noor through the East India Company and added it to the British Crown Jewels.

-Karim Khan was one of the best kings of Iran and the first ruler to bring something resembling democracy to the region. He called himself Vakil e-Ra'aayaa, which in today's terms means the People's Representative, ie. President.

-Agha Mohammad Kahn was indeed a eunuch but a fierce and cunning fighter and strategist too. He easily gained control over Iran and called himself the king. His successors were a line of mostly incompetent rulers called the Qajar dynasty. More on them later.

-The British gained immense power in Iran at this time even to the point of deciding on key political measures. The Iranians were mostly confused and powerless against their political games. It got worse when Russians came into the picture. Again, more on that later.

-The title of this chapter is based on this famous picture in which Britain is portrayed as a lion, Russia as a bear and Iran is the poor little cat: h t t p : //en . wikipedia .org / wiki / File: IranUSSRBritain . jpg (don't forget to remove the spaces)

-I would like to ask all who read this story (few as they are,) to please review and let me know what they think. Thanks.


	6. Part 6: War and Betrayal

**The Girl Between the Two Seas **

**Part 6: War and Betrayal **

The fields no longer smelled of flowers and wheat. They smelled of smoke and gunpowder. The Persian troops marched strongly, chasing the Russians across the planes of Armenia. On the heels of her soldiers came Iran, riding a white horse and in full body armor. To her right, just a few paces back, was the blond English man in elegant riding gear atop a tan Arabian stallion.

"We beat them, Arthur. They are pulling back," she said in a voice raw from too much smoke and too much action.

He didn't reply. His eyes stayed on the far away Russian troops who were retreating behind the rise and fall of the ground.

"I can't believe it was that easy. Let's have a meeting with the generals now," Iran said.

She turned the horse and galloped toward the cluster of men that had appeared at the right edge of the field. England took longer to turn. His green eyes were still scanning the horizon, slipping over the few (_far too few_) Russian soldiers that were still moving back. When he finally turned, Iran had already reached her generals, and a war horn was blowing, signaling the soldiers to stop as their commanders gathered for a debate.

-o-o-o-

Abbas Mirza, the crown prince of Persia and commander of all Persian troops, looked tired. He walked the length of the make shift table they had set in the middle of the grassy field, turning from one direction to the other like a caged animal. Iran's jubilant mood had somewhat dampened after hearing the reports. Despite the early advancements, and the Persians outnumbering the Russian troops 5 to 1, everything wasn't as rosy and she'd thought. They had suffered massive casualties and had barely managed to end the siege of Echmiadzin. The term that kept repeating was "superior technology," something that Iran knew wasn't to describe their army.

"So what if they have better guns and cannons? That didn't stop us with the Turks. There's so many of us and so few of them. We should crush them while we can and push them out of the lands they have occupied," she said.

"It's not that easy," Abbas Mirza responded. "Their cannons are deadly. They can kill whole squadrons without even getting close. I can't risk my men's lives like that."

"What then? Let them regroup and come back with more? We should kick them while they're down. That Russian bully scares me. I can't rest knowing he is trudging around terrorizing our people."

"I agree. But we need to exercise patience and come up with a strategy. We can't simply use brute force. The more we press on, the more worn out our equipment will get. Let's camp somewhere, observe their movements and wait for the opportune moment to attack."

"I hate to interrupt, but that strategy can easily lead to your defeat."

Everyone stared at the British man who had spoken for the first time. Iran turned to him, her eyes bright and pleading as if begging him for the answer to all their problems.

Arthur sighed and continued, "Russia is not weak. He's just too busy. He's fighting and squabbling with Francis, Sadiq and Berwald at this time and not dedicating enough attention to this war. However, if you take too long he might settle those fights and bring the troops here. Then he'd have the advantage of numbers _and_ superior technology."

The group stared at him. Iran looked on the verge of tears. After a long pause Abbas Mirza said, "So what do you suggest we do?"

The Brit locked gaze with him. "You must sit down and talk with them as soon as you can. Once they've finished retreating, even if they are still within the occupied areas you must propose peace talks. Pretend you are able to hold your advantage for a long time and prepare your demands. Be ready to compensate but don't show your hand and your weakness."

The Persian officers looked at each other wearily. This strategy at least _sounded_ better than anything they had come up with so far, even if it involved a huge gamble. They had to wait until the Russians settled in the next town and quickly proceed with the plan before Russia came up with one of his own.

-o-o-o-

Iran rounded on Arthur as soon as they entered their tent.

"How come _we_ don't have deadly cannons?" she asked.

Arthur put a hand on her shoulder.

"Calm down. What are you yelling at me for?"

She pulled back. "Those are European cannons. Why didn't you give me anything like those so we could defend ourselves better and push them out?"

"Are you serious? You expect me to bring you cannons and rifles at the drop of a hat? Even if this wasn't a surprise attack it would have taken months for the ships to arrive. By that time the war would have been over."

"Then why didn't you give them to me sooner?" she began crying and Arthur took her in his arms.

"I'm sorry. This never should have happened. You have to understand, this is Ivan. Even with guns ten times deadlier than his you would never have been able to _push_ him out of anywhere. He's been doing this for centuries, in Europe and other places. Ask Poland and Lithuania."

Iran sniffed. "Poland, who?"

Arthur shook his head. "It doesn't matter. What matters is that Ivan has now set his eyes on Asia, and you're his immediate neighbor with the largest landmass and richest resources. He wants his cut and the sooner we negotiate with him the better a deal we can get. Trust me, I know what I'm doing?"

"Is that really true?"

"That I know what I'm doing?"

"No," she extracted herself from his arms and looked up, "that I should trust you."

England looked at her for a moment, not knowing what to make of the question. He pulled her back to him again and hugged her tighter than before. She buried her head in his chest.

"You can always trust me. You _know_ that. No matter what happens I will be by your side. I would never let you deal with that Russian bastard alone. Never."

He felt her slight nod and in that moment, even he believed those words.

-o-o-o-

They met in a tent near Yerevan, where Ivan was holding a not-so-successful siege. Everything had proceeded according to Arthur's plan, and now he had come to inform the Russian about Iran's desire for a settlement.

Ivan wasn't smiling this time. He was in full amour, with a deep shadow covering his eyes. Arthur gave him a courteous bow before sitting across from him in the stuffy tent. He waited for the Russian to begin the conversation, as par his experience it was always better to respond to a verbal attack rather than initiate it. Yet when time passed and Russia remained silent Arthur got the point and, with a flick of his wrist, pulled the papers out from his inner coat pocket and put them on the table that was between them.

"Uh...," he started only to be cut off by a deadpan glare from Russia.

Ivan's voice was low and dangerous when he spoke. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm here to negotiate the terms."

"I meant what are you doing helping _her_?"

England blinked in shock. He hadn't anticipated Russia to be so angry and quickly tried to calm the situation.

Carefully he said, "But you knew I was going to be by her side."

"I knew you controlled the South because that's where your ships anchor for her treasures. What are you doing up north meddling in a war that is none of your business?"

England assumed a haughty look and said, "Who said this was about business? Can I not do something to help a poor nation you're abusing?"

Russia leaned forward and sneered.

"Who do you think you're fooling? You want to pretend you care? Like you're in love? As if that would ever happen again? We all remember what happened the last time you made that mistake."

Sudden images flooded England's vision, of a blond haired boy – no a man – with glasses, standing in the rain and pointing a gun at him. It made him swallow hard and Russia saw it. His creepy signature grin came back to his lips.

Russia, who had half risen from his seat, abruptly changed character. In a flash the angry, imposing giant was gone, replaced by an oversized, happy and sadistic child. He dropped back onto his seat and folded his hands on his chest, the guiltless smile spreading over his features.

"You know what? Maybe it is smart, what you're doing? Starting affairs with exotic nations I mean. Perhaps I should get into it too, da? Afghanistan is east of Iran, and she's ten times wilder and more uppity from what I've heard. Maybe I should do with her what you've done with Iran: softly invade her vital regions and reap all the rewards for myself. It could have some unforeseen benefits too, much more profitable than this war."

It was England's turn to rise. "What are you saying?"

"Nothing. Just following your lead."

"You said you didn't like warm climates. Whatever would you want with Afghanistan?"

Russia leaned forward again and looked the other straight in the eye, his own eyes mere slits of vicious glee. "What's it to you? You have your affair and your business with Iran? What do you care what I do to her neighbor? Or is it the other neighbor you are worried about. Would that perhaps be…uh, too close to India?"

England gritted his teeth. His fists clenched on the table ignoring the papers he was crinkling. Bastard Russia and his strategic genius! Now the choice was placed squarely in his hands: Iran or India. It was obvious Russia wouldn't let him have both without demanding something in return.

"What do you want?" he asked in a choked voice.

Russia chuckled and immediately pulled a handful of paper from under the table.

"Exactly what you want my dear: a treaty with our Iran. Here is one I have prepared. Would you be a darling and take it to her?"

England took the papers from Russia's hand and looked them over suspiciously, his eyes leaving the documents a moment later to stare at the grinning Russian.

"I don't understand…."

"Oh, you will. Make sure you remember what was said here and do not breathe a word of it to your girlfriend. You should know better than to go against your erstwhile allies to give aid to new acquaintances. After all, I don't help Francis attack you, do I?"

"Did you mean what you said about Afghanistan?" Arthur asked.

Russia looked at him through the fringe of his bangs.

"Have you ever heard me say anything I didn't mean, dear England?"

England didn't need to answer that. With a parting nod, and teeth grinding so hard his jaw ached, he left the tent and a satisfied, giggling Russia.

-o-o-o-

"This is preposterous. I'm not going to sign this."

"Please listen to me…"

"No, I don't want to listen to you. Why do I have to agree with _his_ terms when it is us holding the advantage?"

"We only appear to hold the advantage. In reality we are no better than if we were defeated. It will only take one push from him to change everything."

Iran looked at England in awe.

"You weren't talking like this before. What happened at that meeting?"

"Nothing. I said from the start that we should negotiate as soon as possible, didn't I?"

"But this?" Iran held the papers England had given her in front of the blonde's eyes. "This isn't what we talked about. These are _his_ demands, _his_ advantage, _his_ victory. Look, he asks me to concede Georgia and Azerbaijan. He tells me to accept his dominance over Talysh. He forbids me to navigate the Caspian Sea!!! Don't you see Arthur? This is not a treaty. This is a declaration of victory. And I don't get why you ask me to accept it. We're not defeated yet."

England closed his eyes. He was afraid they would betray his inner feelings, of how much he agreed with her but couldn't say it out of shame. Russia had in fact defeated them both. Poor Iran was just too clueless to know it.

"I am _not_ going to sign this," she declared with finality. "If this is his idea of a peace agreement then we haven't got one. We're going to fight him with all we have and push him out of our land. No matter what happens, it cannot possibly get worse than this."

_You have no idea_.

"I can go back to him. I can ask for some changes …."

"No," she yelled, "You've done enough. And I thank you for that. But from this point on it's my job to defend my country. I'm not going to roll over and let him do what he wants. As of now, war is the course of action and nothing will change that."

She walked out of the tent to go and find Abbas Mirza and give him the message.

England sat still. He wasn't sure whether to hate or admire Iran's show of self-assurance, but he knew, based on the current situation, that it could only lead to one of two conclusions: She would lose, in which case Russia's revenge and punishment would be draconian. Or she would win and feel empowered, which would cause her to escape his hold completely and no longer feel the need to depend on him.

In both cases _he_ would lose.

England slammed his fist against his thigh. He hadn't anticipated such mess. Damn Russia for ruining his life. Everything was going so perfectly if that bully hadn't interfered. Why did he have to put his foot in every situation in every corner of the world? What was he trying to achieve, world domination?

He was still simmering when a man walked inside and saluted him. Arthur recognized him and said: "Ah, Sir Ouseley. Good to see you. Any news from our ships?"

"Yes sir. In fact, I'm here to report a new shipment of weapons just arriving in Gameron Port. It's ready for you to receive." He handed Arthur a document.

Arthur looked it over. It was a large shipment of guns and rifles, even cannons of the latest production, just what they needed at this time.

Russia's face flashed before his eyes, followed by Afghanistan and India, a happy bunch grinning at him.

He shook his head and paused, then he folded the document and returned it to the man standing in front of him.

"Take this back to the captain of the ship, Sir Ouseley."

"Sir?"

"Tell them not to unload the shipment. Instead, tell them to stay on the docs and wait for my instructions. We will not deliver those weapons at this time."

The man still stared at him for another minute. It wasn't his place to question orders so he finally saluted and said, "Yes sir. I will deliver your message right away."

He left the tent and England put his head in his hands, fighting not to think about anything. In his lifetime as an empire there had been many times he was forced to make a difficult decision. Emotions had no place in governing a kingdom and choosing sides. Only strategy mattered. Russia was right; he had learned that the hard way.

-o-o-o-

The explosion rocked the ground and threw Iran several meters outside the trench. She tried to get up but couldn't. She only managed to move her head and look at the carnage around her. Bodies were strewn everywhere, bodies of her fallen soldiers, some still holding onto their inefficient rifles like lifelines. She panted hard and begged her body to move. She could hear the rumble of Russian boots through the ground. They were coming closer and she and her soldiers had to retreat or be killed. Still her limbs refused the command, frozen on the blood soaked ground. With much effort she managed to pull herself into a sitting position and realized the enemy was much closer than she thought. She could already see the tips of their white pelt hats peeking over the top of the dirt mound on the other side of the trench.

She also realized it was futile to try to retreat again. There were no more Persian soldiers left alive.

Her eyes were on her fallen men when his shadow fell over her. She looked up, up and up, noticing for the first time just how tall Ivan was up close. He was draped in the same white and red uniform as his officers, with that damn pelt hat that for all the world looked like a dead animal on his head. He smiled down at her like a wolf seeing a wounded rabbit, and she had to smile too, at how much that metaphor fitted the situation. This was it, the end of the road for both of them. And if she hadn't been a nation she would wonder whether he would let her say a prayer before she died.

He stood there looming over her for a long time, the terrifying smile never leaving his lips. Iran held his gaze bravely. If she were to go down she would at least keep her dignity. This wasn't that different from when the Arabs had invaded her, or the Mongols, or the Tatars. She and her people had survived that, they would survive this too.

"Ahh, there you are. I was wondering when you'd show up."

For a moment Iran was confused at the words. Then she saw he was no longer looking at her but at something behind her. She turned in time to see Arthur running up an incline to reach the spot where they were, breathing hard and having sweat pour down his face.

He came to stand next to her like a guardian knight. She smirked at the ridiculousness of it. What was the term his people used? Too little, too late?

England bent down and extended his hand. "Get up," he ordered, "Hurry, take my hand and get up."

Russia was watching all of this in amusement and didn't object when England shoved Iran behind him and stood to face him. He directed his smirk to his longtime friend and observed him with that same happy, cool detachment that he applied to everything, like this was all just a fun game.

"I trust you know what to do, hm? Dear England?"

"Yes, now please go. You've done enough."

"Then I'll see you both at the meeting. Make sure to let her rest a bit. She looks shaken."

England fisted his hands at his sides but didn't say anything. He could feel Iran struggle to remain standing behind him, almost leaning on him and her breath heavy and labored against his back. He broke his intense gaze from watching the Russian only when he and his soldiers were completely out of sight. Then and only then did he turn, in time to catch the Middle Eastern nation as she finally collapsed in exhaustion.

-o-o-o-

"Iran accepts to renounce all claims on Georgia, Azerbaijan and all of Armenia."

"Iranian ships lose full rights to navigate all of the Caspian Sea and her coasts, henceforth given to Russia."

"Iran agrees to pay Russia 10 million in Gold for war reparations."

Arthur's voice shook as he read the conditions of the treaty. He stole a glance at the defeated nation. Iran was standing tall. Although a bit pale, her face showed no reaction to the terms being read to her. She was keeping her face completely blank and except for a single glare she threw at Ivan when they entered the meeting area she hadn't looked at him even once.

"Iran recognizes Capitulation rights for Russians in Iran."

"Russia gains the right to send consulate envoys to anywhere in Iran it wishes."

It went on and on, Russia sitting at a table to their right, only a few feet away from Iran who stood near the center, and Arthur who was in front of her. She wasn't looking at England either. Her gaze was off somewhere beyond his shoulder, as if he didn't exist.

What bothered Arthur more than Iran's lack of emotional reaction was Russia's smug attitude. The bastard couldn't even clamp it down for the sake of the situation. He had to have his legs up on the table, crossed at the ankles and grin nonstop at the rewards he was reaping from the poor defeated girl.

"Iran is forced to sign economic treaties with Russia as Russia specifies."

"Russia will support Abbas Mirza as the heir to the throne of Persia."

He took a deep breath and stopped. Hoping that was the end of the list of the verdicts and no more would come from the big man at the table. He looked over to Ivan. There must have been something in his eyes because the Russian threw his head back and snorted in what could either be glee or mock, Arthur wasn't sure.

_The bastard is enjoying my shame._

"It's finished," he said dryly.

Russia threw his legs off the table and snapped his fingers twice, asking for a quill that was soon placed in his hand. Meanwhile England brought the document to the table for the Russian to sign. Once it was done Ivan looked at Iran, who hadn't moved an inch from her spot, and raised an eyebrow. Arthur turned around.

"Sweetie, could you please come and sign."

Iran turned her head, looking at them as if waking up from a dream. Slow, stoic steps brought her to the table where she took the quill and looked at the paper as if it was something vile. She didn't say anything or look at either of the men, simply dipped the tip of the feathered pen in ink and signed the treaty. After it was done the quill just slipped from her fingers and she took a moment to steady herself against the table.

"Alright, bring them forth," Russia called.

A loud cry from behind drew their attention and both Arthur and Iran turned to see Russian soldiers drag a small brown haired girl into the center. She wasn't coming easily, kicking and screaming all the way. Behind her two more soldiers escorted a teenage boy with curly black hair, black eyes and shades of a mustache above his lip. Behind him was another boy, pale with white-blonde hair and gray eyes, looking somber and detached like a ghost.

The little girl freed herself from her captors as soon as she saw the people around the table and ran toward them. With a shriek she threw herself at Iran and began pummeling her chest with her fists.

"You liar, liar, liar. You promised you'd give me independence when I grew up. Is this how you keep your promise? By giving us to that man? Why, what did we do?"

Iran leaned forward and tried to pacify the girl but Russia chose that moment to stand up and walk around the table to get closer to them.

"Ahh, Georgia," he said, causing England to quickly look at the amber eyed girl. So this was Georgia, the nation that was going to be handed over to Russia under the treaty. He looked over at the other two captives standing in the field and his mind made the connection. The boy in the front was Azerbaijan, the one in the back, most likely Armenia.

_They will all disappear, their culture, language, even borders. They will all become part of Mother Russia._

A chill went through Arthur's body.

Iran was kneeling in front of the girl and petting her hair soothingly. Georgia had stopped hitting her and was now openly crying. Arthur saw Russia walk toward them and quickly grabbed for his sleeve, pleading with his eyes as the Russian looked at him in surprise.

_Let them have their moment damn it._

Ivan ignored him and put a paternal hand over Georgia's shoulder.

"Come on ребенок, let's go and join your brothers in your new home."

Georgia tensed under Ivan's hand. Then, with no warning, she kicked the man in the shin and ran off to Azerbaijan. Russia cried out in pain and the soldiers raised their rifles threateningly while the teen boy shielded the girl in his arms.

"Don't harm them. They are just wild animals in need of taming," Russia barked, "Bring the horses. We are leaving now."

"No!!!" Georgia wailed, "I'm not going anywhere with you. Iran said I could have independence. You won't give me that so I'm not coming. Why won't you let us be?"

Russia grabbed his sword and his papers from his aid and barely spared a glance toward the small nation. He gave more orders to his men.

"Take them to my house. Tell Belarus and Lithuania to take care of them. Tell them if I hear any more crying tonight everyone gets a punishment."

A stone hit him on the shoulder. He turned and saw the girl holding another one, ready to throw. Azerbaijan saw the danger in his eyes and quickly pulled Georgia back into his arms and removed the stone from her hands. He shivered and closed his eyes as he saw the larger nation come toward them with strong, measured steps. When Russia was in front of them Azerbaijan held Georgia in a very tight hug, hoping to protect her against Ivan's wrath.

"Listen to me," Russia's voice hissed, "You are all part of Imperial Russia now. You're members of my house and if you learn to behave properly no harm will come to you. Forget who you were and what you had. Throw it all away. Forget Persia, Turkey or your own useless local bosses. I am your boss now, and you are all my dear children."

"Never!" Georgia cried, and in that moment she looked much older than she was. She straightened up, despite Azerbaijan's attempts to hold her back, and said, "I will never, ever, submit to you. Nor will I ever become one with you. I may be small today but someday I will get strong. And on that day I will leave you and become independent. And there's nothing you can do to stop me."

Russia eyed the fiery girl with hooded eyes before turning and walking away. "We'll see about that," he whispered under his breath and went to mount his horse.

As the Russian soldiers struggled to put the girl on a horse she turned to Iran one last time. The Persian's head was turned, unable to watch the small ones being taken away. Arthur was by her side, standing close to her and hugging her shoulders. Georgia cried out to them, "I will not forget how weak and pathetic you were, Iran. You could have saved us but you didn't. And it's all because of him, that swindler, that fiend. He's got you in his claws and you're too dumb to see it. You're England's bitch."

Arthur stared at the young girl who returned his look with a glare. By then the caravan had begun moving and soon the three nations were out of their sight, along with Russia and his soldiers. All that was left was an empty field with cold wind blowing all around them. It was then that Arthur felt Iran's shoulders shake and looked down.

She was silently crying.

-o-o-o-

-ребенок: child.

-The treaty mentioned in this chapter is a combination of the two infamous Gulistan and Turkemanchay Treaties, two of the most painful agreements forced upon Iran in history. To keep things simple I told the story as one war and one treaty where in fact there were two. First the Persian army's loss resulted in the Treaty of Gulistan and Iran losing control over Georgia and Azerbaijan, then the Persians retaliated and tried to win back the lost regions. They lost again and another treaty with much harsher conditions was imposed on them. If you like to read more just search the two treaties and the Russo-Persian wars on Wikipedia.

-True to her word, Georgia did not submit to Russia. In truth Iran never extended full control over Georgia so the Georgians had more free will when their region was considered part of Iran. With the annexation to Russia, Georgia lost the little independence it had and they began scattered rebellions against Russia's power as early as 1917 (after the Russian revolution.) Unfortunately they, like the Baltics, had to wait for the monumental changes in the 1990's to gain their independence but even after that there was tension between the two countries. There were clashes as recently as last year and it is safe to say that Georgians don't like Russia even though, ironically enough, one of the most prominent Soviet figures of all time, Joseph Stalin, hails from Georgia.

-Abbas Mirza, the brave prince who was the hero of the Russo-Persian wars never got to the throne. He died in a later war near Khorasan (north east of Iran.) Most believe Iran's history would have been much different had he become king. He's by far the most well liked, well respected character of the Qajar dynasty.

-Again, I fudged the parts about England and his involvement in the war. In fact no one knows if they could have supplied the Persian army with better guns. The truth is that the British had a heavy hand in constructing the treaties and were mostly concerned for their own interests. I'm actually giving them a lot more credit in this story than they deserve considering how they, and the Russians, mauled the Persians in the jaws of their politics.

-I'm glad this chapter is over. Although is one of the more interesting ones of so far, and it's always fun to write Ivan as he's one of my favorite villains, having to go over this part of Iran's history over and over to get it right was no walk in the park. Hope you like it and would make this poor writer happy by giving her your feedback.


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